


Chaos and Fire

by LadyThomasSharpe



Category: BDSM - Fandom, Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: BDSM, Erotica, F/M, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Rough Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyThomasSharpe/pseuds/LadyThomasSharpe
Summary: You're celebrating a big win with a recent case by taking the day off. You are a woman who is used to getting what she wants, used to controlling everything and everyone around you. Until you meet this incredibly beautiful man who calls himself Loki. He asks you if you're as brave and wild as he thinks.You decide to find out. With him.





	Chaos and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This one is definitely outside of my comfort zone for the subject matter and what happens between these two. Made it a bit hard to write. But, it excited me to write it. I hope it excites you as well.

 

 

“Look, I don’t give a damn what he thinks is his. You tell that witless oaf and his attorney that I have the video and the depositions. He fucked around on his wife and I have proof. That violates their prenup in spades.”

You listen to your paralegal as she drones on about the current case. But it means nothing. You’re going to run this attorney’s argument straight into the ground. You have all the pictures and recorded phone calls the private investigator was able to get. Get that arrogant dick to settle a better amount on your client than the prenup originally offered and it’s all over. You eat bigger dicks than this idiot for breakfast. You’ve got him. You own him. You have it all under your control.

“Yes, well, you just get those discovery motions written up and ready for Monday.” You drive into the parking lot of Freyja’s. Only the best bistro in the city. Visions of pastries and Belgian waffles and coffee dancing before your eyes. “We file those motions on Monday. Don’t worry, I’ve got it all in the bag. They won’t be able to stop us. I won’t let them.”

You disconnect the call and park your car. You’re going to treat yourself today. A lovely, leisurely breakfast on a very rare day off. A treat to yourself for the case you just won. Dominating the court room. Presenting evidence that was just a little ambivalent and yet, making one hell of an argument. Turning aside every single objection raised by the opponent. Today, breakfast and a drive in the country. A glance up at the sky says, it won’t rain, so you leave the top down and go inside.

Until you see him. _Him_. The man. The most beautiful man in existence.

He doesn’t fit in. With all the other Millennials and Second-Wave Millennials and Gen-Zers sitting about in tee shirts and hoodies and cut offs and trying to look so trendy, he sits by the window so completely out of place that you can’t help but notice him. His nose buried in his newspaper. The demitasse of espresso still steaming and the pastries sitting on his plate, untouched. He looks as if he should be somewhere else. Monaco, maybe. Paris. New York. London. Some café or bistro where the sun is shining after a spring rain. An insanely beautiful model sitting across the table from him.

God, you can’t look away. His thin face is framed by auburn hair. Hair so dark red that it looks like fire waving in the breeze. Hair that comes alive when anyone opens the door to go in or out. Silken strands of the purest auburn, scarlet, cinnabar, and gold. Lying about his shoulders, thick and luxurious. Your fingers itch at the thought of combing through the locks, maybe to be singed in the flame.

Dark eyes, the color of sapphires…no, wait. _Star_ sapphires. Long lashes frame those eyes, long enough to touch his cheek when he blinks. A mouth that is full lipped, one corner lifted in a half smile of amusement. That face is a classic, something sculpted by Michelangelo or Donatello. Skin as pale as marble, the color just as complex. A face of perfection with its high cheekbones and the hair flowing loose around it.

His body is slender, muscular. Tall. He must be tall. The fingers holding his newspaper are slender and long. Those hands look so strong and yet so gentle. He could touch you with those fingers, trailing them down your body. Your breasts. He reaches down to pick up his cup, sipping the strong coffee. Then replaces the cup in the saucer, moving to a bit of the pastry. His tongue emerges from between his lips. Taking every drop, every crumb from them. So slowly that it’s almost torture to watch him. Licking it all into his mouth.

_I want to kiss him now. No, I need. I need to kiss him. Right now._

He wears a suit, a very expensive suit. It’s been custom tailored to his body. It fits him so well, the hand in the glove. Black on black on black. A black serge suit, the material black as the night. The shirt underneath, a silk black shirt, that strains to cover his chest. The black buttons look as if they might pop off at any moment. And yet it fits him so well, as if it were painted on his body. The black tie, with its perfect Windsor knot, has to be satin or silk.

The black hose and black leather shoes complete the look. He crosses one leg over the other with a deliberate movement. The cloth rides up, just enough to give you a look at one shapely, sock covered ankle. Deliberate, oh so deliberate. This is maddening. Why won’t he look up? Why won’t he look around? Why can’t he see you? Why _won’t_ he see you? No, the better question is why can’t you stop looking at him?

“Ma’am?” The question rips your attention away from that sexy red-headed man. A hard pull that leaves you slightly dazed.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter in a very out of breath fashion. “You were saying?”

The cashier is young, with perky breasts and a face from a Botticelli painting. If that girl is over the age of seventeen, you’ll eat the candles on her last birthday cake. But she has that tender and sweet look. Just the sort of tart that a man like that would chase after. “I said, Welcome to Freyja’s. What can I get for you?”

_Oh fuck_. “Um, sorry, I’ll have the baked brie with the croissants and the strawberries.”

“Wonderful,” little Miss Perfect Tits enthuses. “What would you like to drink?”

“Uh..um…salted caramel cappuccino. A large, if you please.”

She quotes you the price and hands you a copy of your ticket. They’ll bring the food out, you can step to the barista’s station for your coffee. Ticket in hand, you stand while the young man behind the station makes your large mug of sultry, silky coffee. But your attention is neither on the barista or the cappuccino. That man and his bloody paper dominate your senses again. A God. A beautiful fire-haired, alabaster skinned God. Ooooooh, what you couldn’t do to that body. That man. Starting with his lips, his mouth. Taking his tongue into your mouth, sucking it lightly. If those fingers are any indication of the size of his cock, going down on that man would be a pleasure. Riding on top of him, rolling your hips in time to the beat of your heart.

The barista hands you the mug on the saucer and sends you on your merry way. You stand, looking for a table—someplace where you can sit and watch him. But where? Every table seems to be…. No. Wait. The other table by that gorgeous specimen of manhood just came open, the couple already there has just finished their meal and left. Cappuccino in hand, you sit down by the window. Damn. You can’t see him now. That newspaper covers him completely. How can you watch him? How are you supposed to be able to watch and adore him? That beautiful man in his beautiful suit. You feel empty, a little alone. Cold. Away from the sun. Miss Perfect Tits brings your plate and flatware and leaves it at your table. Well, you came to have breakfast, not get busted for stalking someone.

You tear into the baked brie, the fruit and softened cheese clinging to the knife as you scoop up a bit and smear it on a fragment of butter croissant. Rich and melty, you put that bite in your mouth and close your eyes to savor the taste. There is something so sexy about the cheese and fruit and bread coming together in your mouth. You chew languidly, as if your whole body was wrapped up in this one morsel. You don’t want the sensation to end and yet it must. You swallow and take another bite. Followed by another and another and another. More of this. Better yet, more of _him_.

The snap of the newspaper and your attention is pulled out of your reverie. He folds the paper, laying it to the side. The small half-smile is still on his face, but his blue sapphire eyes are trained on you. He reaches for one of the pastries on his plate and once again that tongue slithers out to touch the flaky layers. The tip just barely dancing over the sugary goodness. You are mesmerized. He’s hypnotizing you with just his eyes. He puts a corner of the pastry between his lips. White, even teeth bite down, taking the bit into his mouth. Now the full smile, the smile of a predator who knows his prey can’t look away. Won’t look away. _Is that what I’m doing? Going to my death? Let me die in his arms and his bed._

As if he can hear you, his half smile turns into a grin and you can’t breathe anymore. The air is stopped at your throat. Going in or coming out. You can’t do it. You can’t. You have quite possibly sold your soul to the devil and you wonder if you’ve received a good price in the bargain. His eyes are trained on you and you have one sane moment to wonder if he’s some sort of rapist or murderer. You toss that idea to the side. You don’t get that vibe from him.

_Yeah, that’s what they said about Ted Bundy and the Son of Sam._

“Excuse me.”

You look up into those true blue eyes and swallow very hard to get the lump out of your throat. When did he move? He was just sitting over there. Now he’s standing by your table, one hand resting on the back of the other chair, the other carrying his plate. _Oh, God, this guy is going to be dangerous in all the right ways._

“Yes?”

“May I join you?” he purrs. That voice is smooth as buttercream frosting. The chocolate and hazelnut kind. “I’m sitting alone. I see you are too. No reason we can’t sit together and…talk.”

_Wow!_ And he’s waiting for an answer. _Okay. This is it. This is the moment._

“Unless…you’d like me to leave?”

“No. Please don’t go,” you blurt out. “I mean…I’d love to share my table with you. Please. Sit.”

The plate on the table and then he reaches for his drink. Tea, you notice. You can’t tell what it is from the smell of it, but it’s strong. Honey. Lemon. He pulls the other chair out and sits.

“You don’t usually come inside, do you,” he says, casually. But his eyes are intense, and he watches you with that same self-assured smile on his face. “I’d have noticed you if you had.”

“No. I’m usually on my way to work. I go through the drive through.”

He takes another bite of a pastry and sits back, casually crossing his legs again. One arm lying across the back of the chair as he enjoys his food. “But not today?”

You suddenly feel like a giddy schoolgirl with her drop dead gorgeous crush. You’re losing control. Of yourself, of this situation. You shake your head and sip your cappuccino. “A day off. I decided to treat myself to breakfast. Take a drive and go to some shops in a place I’ve never been.”

“Ah, an adventure,” he says.

“Something like that,” you answer.

“You don’t strike me as the type to meander.” He sips his tea.

“What type am I?” you ask, regaining yourself.

He smiles. “The type that would boldly go where she pleases. Take what you want and do what you wish. The type that will never give over to anyone. For any reason.”

You smile. “Perceptive. I’m an attorney.”

“Exactly,” he agrees cheerfully. “Perhaps I might offer my services as a guide? A beast of burden, perhaps? Every lovely lady going shopping needs a man to carry her bags, do her bidding.”

“Does she, now?”

“Absolutely.”

You sit tall, one leg crossed over the other, trying so hard to be just as capricious. “Well, my mother always told me never to get in cars with strangers. Even if they do offer themselves up as…what did you say? ‘Beast of burden’?”

He puts a hand to his chest, a teasing gesture as if insulted. “Stranger? Me? I am hardly a stranger.”

“I’ve never met you before,” you tell him, matching his teasing tone. “I don’t even know your name.”

This time, he leans over his plate. On his elbows with his fingers laced together. “I don’t know yours either, my lady.”

You tell him—first name only, of course. He may be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, but you’re not a _total_ idiot.

His hand returns to his chest and he bows his head to you. “A lovely name. I am called…Loki. I am quite pleased to meet you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone named Loki,” you tell him. “Unusual name. Named after the Norse God, I take it? The God of Mischief and Chaos?”

“God of _Fire_ and Chaos, my dear.” He winks at you. “A family name, I’ve been told. My mother is quite reliable about such things.”

“Your mother is?”

“Yes, she is.” He moves the plate and the mug out of the way, then leans on the table again. Resting his elbows. So intimate, so demanding of you. The desire is palpable, but whose desire? His? Or yours?

“You have a thing for women, do you?” you ask, a mischievous smile on your lips.

“I love women,” he answers, the gaze penetrating yours. There is no hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I love women, short women and tall women. Old women and young women. Fat women and thin women. I love _all_ women and all women are beautiful in my eyes.”

His voice is hypnotic, speaking to something inside of you. You can’t look away. Everyone around you fades away into a dull background noise that you no longer hear. The first stirrings of desire in your chest. Your heart flutters. _What the fuck is happening to me? Over a man?_

“And am _I_ beautiful to you?”

“Very.”

You are drowning. Drowning in his honeyed words and his beautiful blue eyes. Your fingers twitch to comb that hair. Still. Always. “And how would you show me? That I’m beautiful?”

“Seduce you. Take you. In so many ways that you never knew were possible. Worship your body with mine. Show you the pleasure that you’ve never heard of or dared to dreamed of.”

The water is well over your head and you are going down. “I don’t even know you.”

 “What’s to know. I am Loki. I am, for all intents and purposes, a gentleman. I don’t take what doesn’t belong to me.” He tosses his hair back. “Within reason. I care more for my own amusement and pleasure than I care for anything else in the Nine— In this world.” He shrugs. “If you’re not interested—”

That fills you with dread that he might get up and walk away, that he thinks you’re rejecting him. You reach to take his wrist. “I didn’t say that,” you blurt out to him. “I just…I just want to get to know you a little. Is that wrong?”

His smile is so smug now. He’s won. He knows he’s won. “No, it’s not. I’m really not complicated. But still…” He doesn’t move the arm, covering your hand with his. “What would you like to know?”

_The game is on again_. Your pussy is tingling, hot and wet. Your breasts are close to spilling out of your bra, out of the blouse you wear. How did that happen?

“Where are you from?”

“A little place that you’ve probably never heard of.” He smiles again. The most winning smile. “You?”

Just that quickly, it doesn’t matter. Smiling, you shake your head. “You’re right. I don’t care.”

“Then answer a question for _me_.”

“Anything,” you tell him. Your mouth has gone dry again. “Ask away.”

He leans forward again. “Do you always play it safe? Or are you the dangerous thing I take you for? Have I passed your little test and are you ready to take a leap into the wild unknown? Because I asked?”

_Oh God_. The _practical, sensible_ inside of you wants to scream at this man, this Loki, to go away. _Practical, sensible_ wants to run and hide. He’s dangerous, she tells you. He’ll hurt you, she tells you. But he’s right. That man is incredibly gorgeous and sexy, and full of that danger. There’s a part of you that wants it badly. Tell _practical, sensible_ to go get fucked. Your eyes are locked to his, searching for an answer. Maybe it’s time to take that leap.

“It wasn’t a test.” Not really, but then again…. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not the ‘rape ‘em and kill ‘em’ type.”

He has the decency to look offended, then smiles again. “I don’t kill…lovers. I enjoy them, revel in them. To watch a lover open like the petals of a rose as it blooms… _this_ pleases me. To take a wild thing and make her open to me, give over to me. To submit to me. No. Killing something so perfect, so delicious. It is, as _you_ would say, a sin.”

“And the rape part?”

“Dear lady. I seduce. I finesse. If I’m doing it right, I don’t have to rape. And I have so many lovers who willingly surrender to me, I have no need to rape. It’s a disgusting habit and one I never acquired.” He raises one eyebrow. “Unless it’s a fantasy of yours?”

You shake your head.

“Good. Then, we speak of it no more. I just have one more question then.”

“Ask.”

“Where? You might feel safer in your place. But I have all the toys in mine.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it before turning it over to touch his lips to your palm. The feel of his mouth is both fire and ice on your skin. “And I promise, you’ll be safer in my place. Too many around me will be more than happy to have my head on a platter if they hear one scream from my rooms.”

“Your place,” you manage to say. _God, if we don’t fuck soon, I’m going to melt. That voice alone has me ready to cum. My panties are ruined._ “Yours.”

 

 

He didn’t lie. A very fancy hotel, with a great many hotel staff around. So many wealthy guests. And you have no doubt that the first scream would be the one that draws down a dozen saviors. As you follow him through the lobby to the elevator, they all watch you. Nod to you. For a moment, after you step on the elevator, you have the feeling that they’re memorizing your look, your dress. Or maybe it’s just envy. They’re watching him too. And more than a few of them stare at him with open lust.

_Who are you?_ You peek at him from the corner of your eye. _Who are you, Loki? If that’s your name. Your_ real _name._

The elevator goes to the top floor, the penthouses. The moment you step off, you begin to think that maybe he’s not what he seems. Tall men with bluish skin, blue eyes, and black as midnight hair stand about. As you pass them, you see that a few of those ‘men’ are actually women. They look tougher and just as fierce. They all bow to this Loki. He nods as he passes, opening the door to his suite. You walk past them, wondering if anyone _would_ hear you scream.

“Don’t worry,” Loki says. “They serve me, but they know how to curb my…baser nature. You’re safe here. I swear it. But if you want it in blood, you can have that too.” He walks slowly around you, coming to stand behind you. His fingers tracing a line from your neck, down your shoulder, to your wrist. “But if I do this,” he murmurs in your ear. “You will submit to me. You will give me your complete and total surrender. I will demand and you will answer to me.”

You have no idea what that means. And right now, you don’t care. His breath is hot on your neck. You’re having trouble breathing again. Especially since he’s put a knife in your hand—a very _sharp_ knife—and holding your hand, he holds his other out.

“What…? What the fuck are you doing?”

He presses against your back and you get a very good idea of what he’s packing between his legs. As he pushes it against your lower back, right against your ass. It’s huge. And if that’s what it’s like soft, you’re very eager to find out what it’s like hard.

“I’m giving you my blood oath,” he says. His lips are pressed against your neck as he speaks. He guides your hand holding the dagger to his free hand and slices neatly across his palm with it, drawing a thin line of red. “I swear this to you, dear lady. That your life is safe in my hands. That your body is sacred, and I will take nothing that you do not freely give to me. My blood is forfeit. As is my life. This is my blood oath.”

With a gasp, you turn your head to look over your shoulder. “You…?”

He nods at the few standing about in the room. “These men are my witnesses. One scream, one utterance of fear, and they will take my blood, my life. Do you understand?”

You believe him. And for some reason, that’s an even bigger turn on than you thought possible. You push backward against his cock, feeling it stiffen against you. Grinding into his crotch. “I understand.”

“Good.” He whirls you around with a rough gesture. Taking your upper arms in his strong, slim fingers, he glares down at you. Nose to nose. “Now. You will submit to me. You will yield to me. Give me what I want.”

Your head lolls backward, exposing your neck to him. “Anything. Everything.”

“Good girl,” he mutters and bites your neck with a sharp nip. He laughs as you gasp at the pain. “Come with me. Let me show you my play room.”

He leads you to a locked door and produces a key from his pocket to open it. He steps back, holding the door open for you. You hesitate for a moment, staring back at the men. They seem quite relaxed, at ease. You seriously doubt that there will be any rescues but…he cut himself. Okay, he used your hand to do it. But still…. You turn and walk in the door as he reaches around you to turn on the light. You are not prepared for what you see.

The room is dark blue. The blue of lapis lazuli. Dark with the golden veins of pyrite running through it. One wall is covered in flails, riding crops. Cat o’ nine tails. Everything that could be used to spank and whip an ass. Leave welts on tender skin. On another wall, nothing but restraints. Handcuffs, manacles. Spreader bars. On yet another wall, more toys. Nipple clamps. Ball gags. Butt plugs. Vampire gloves. Strap on dildoes. Hoods. Blindfolds. In one corner of the room are several masturbation machines—for men _and_ women. Three walls of everything a well-dressed Dominant Master could ever want to control a submissive.

In the center of the room is a table, made of mahogany. Thick, dark, and apparently very sturdy. The four corners of the table sport small lengths of thick chains ending in very sturdy steel cuffs. The table appears to be just the right height for a tall man to take what he pleases and leave behind what is left. You walk to the table, running your hand over the surface. Smooth as glass, well oiled, seasoned. Hard wood, harder than any you’ve ever felt. The smell of it is musky and earthy.

He walks up behind you. “This is your last chance, lady. To go or stay, your choice. This is what I am. Will you submit to me?”

You give the room once last glance. _Practical, sensible_ says you should be afraid. You should be very afraid. The accoutrement alone should frighten the hell out of you. How many others has he used these _toys_ on? How did he leave them when he was finished? When you face him this time, you slowly unbutton the blouse you wear and drop it to the floor. You don’t look down. You shed every stitch of clothing you wear. Everything. Standing naked before him as your panties are the last piece. And still you refuse to look away from his face.

“One last question,” he says as he walks around you. Taking in every inch of you. His lustful leer. “I am sure that you have limits that are not acceptable to cross. I will not know these limits, but you will. You must communicate them to me.”

“How?” you ask.

“A word. One word. I encourage you to step out of…how do you say it, your ‘safe zone’? Yes. That’s it. But if things take you too far beyond, then you must say a word and I will stop. Agreed?”

You nod.

“Then, what is your safe word?”

You say the first word in your head. “Banana.”

One corner of his mouth comes up, a small smile of amusement, then he sobers again. Nods. Loki goes to his wall and pulls a black leather flail down. “The rules. You will refer to me as ‘Master’ or ‘Master Loki’. You do not look at me. You look down at all times. You speak only when—”

The snort of amusement rasps through your nose. You shake your head. Like that would ever happen. Look down? What the fuck century does he think this is? A sharp bite of the metal studded leather on your ass dries up your giggles immediately and you throw a glare at him.

“The fuck—”

Another strike of the flail cuts you off. He lays another stripe on your ass for good measure.

“I _said_ that you don’t look at me. Do you want another?”

You jerk your gaze back to the floor, your eyes wide with fury.

“Good girl.” He walks around you. “Go on. You may speak.”

“You fucking son of a bitch!” You almost raise your eyes, but quickly think better of it. You keep staring down. “How dare you! How fucking _dare_ you.”

He never raises his voice. He simply continues to circle you _and_ the table. “How dare I? My blood oath, remember? I swore on my blood that your body was safe and so was your life.”

“I—”

“And you agreed to obey me. You agreed to submit to me. Questioning me, challenging me is not submission. I assume you know the difference.”

“Of course, I do,” you answer. Haughty and…confused. Starting to back down. Unsure.

“Good.”

You won’t look up. You let go of your ass. _God it stings_. Your hands fall naturally to your sides. Looking down. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to do.”

“Ah, good. First lesson learned.” He lays the flail on the table and you watch him, looking up through your lashes, as he goes to a decanter and set of glasses. He pours himself a glass of something. Wine, maybe? He comes back to you, sipping it. “Then I will explain.” Another sip. “I am your Master. I am Loki. As in ‘yes, Master’ or ‘as you say, Master Loki’.”

You lick very dry lips. “Yes, Master Loki.”

“Very good.” He drains the glass and carries it back. “Now, you will speak when spoken to. You will not look at me until given permission—”

“You just gave me—”

He is a blur of movement and that damned flail slaps against your skin once more. “And I take it back. Now, shall I continue?”

You bite down on another curse and resist the urge to grab your ass again. “As you say, Master Loki.”

“You see,” he adds happily and comes behind you again. A gentle hand caresses the wounded cheek and the pain is immediately less. “You _can_ submit, my sweet. And when you submit, you will be rewarded handsomely.”

“Yes…,” you answer through clenched teeth. You want so badly to tell him to go fuck himself. To get out of the way and let you go. But then, there is that element of the forbidden. And he is beautiful. And dangerous. Something you’ve never known before. “Yes. Master Loki.”

He puts a finger under your chin, raising your eyes to meet his. He bends his head and with a soft sigh, his lips meet yours. The kiss deepens, the taste of his tongue in your mouth. You raise a hand to his chest, but he takes your wrist and lowers it again. Your hands to your sides. His kiss is cold. His lips are hot. And when he separates from you, he has the oddest expression in his eyes. You immediately drop your gaze to the floor.

“ _Very_ good girl.” He reaches for the flail. “Up on the table, my girl. There you go.”

“I….” _Don’t question. Get on the damned table._ You climb up and sit, waiting for further instruction. Staring at the floor. “Yes, Master.”

“On your belly. Arms and legs out.”

You do as commanded, lying face down and spread eagle. The hand caresses more than your ass this time. He touches you, soft and healing. Ankles, calves. Between your legs and you feel your clit growing harder. Another sigh escapes your lips, but instead of the flail, he merely chuckles. He uses the handle of the flail to work your labia, toy with your pussy lips. You’re getting wet again. You grip the edges of the table, trying not to move. But you can’t help it. You wriggle and are rewarded with the slap of the studs against your buttocks again. You bite your lower lip and hold on.

“Submit to me.”

“You really need to— _fuck that hurts_!”

He softly sighs and leans over, kissing your neck. Your ear. “There cannot be pleasure without pain. You are so strong, so wild. Why do you think I chose you?”

There’s something in his voice. Something tender and completely without the bravado and swagger that he seems to adopt. _Why_ did _you choose me? Why_ are _you with me?_ “I don’t know.”

“Because that’s how you are. You are angry and tempestuous,” he whispers into your ear, kissing it. “You are so deep in being in control that you’ve forgotten how to give yourself willingly. You’ve lost touch with the joy and fulfillment of surrender to your lover.”

You close your eyes, listening to his voice. His words. Surrender? Letting go? You’ve had to be so tough for so long that you don’t remember a time when you _didn’t_ have to take care of yourself. Fight your way in such a male dominated world, the law firm. Standing your ground against defendants who wanted to crush you, clients who wanted to manipulate you. An ex-husband who demoralized you. You’ve had to fight for every scrap of gain that you’ve made. Submit? Give over? Can you even _do_ that?

When you say it this time, there is so much truth in the words. “I don’t know how.”

Loki still whispers, so tender. “Trust me, my lady. I will show you. I will teach you. And then, you will teach me.” He raises up, pulling away from you. The dominator back. “Submit to me.”

_Trust him? I don’t trust anyone. But I can try._ “As you wish, Master. I submit to you.”

He ties a silk scarf around your eyes and gently pushes you back down. “Put out your hands.”

You do, reaching out to the two corners of the table nearest your head. He clamps down the cuffs around your wrists. You tug lightly to confirm the restraints and then relax. Waiting.

“I will tell you what I am going to do before I do it. If it will upset you or make you uncomfortable, speak your safe word.” He caresses your buttocks again. “If you want it more intense, say ‘more’ and I will do so.”

“Yes, Master.” He took a blood oath. He cut his hand and he showed you the blood. You watched it drip down his fingers. That has to be serious. Right? He really means it. Right? _Submission. How can I just submit when I don’t know him. And yet, he cut himself for me. To make me feel safe._ “Yes, my Master. I will use my safe word.”

“Very good,” he says from across the room.

_He bled for me._ You are blindfolded but you still close your eyes. No one’s ever done that for you, bled for you. Taken an oath to never hurt you. You feel any sense of fear or defiance drain out of you. Trust, he said. Trust him. Something inside of you says that you can. _All right. I’ll trust you, Loki. I’ll trust you and submit to you. Only you._

The hand rests on your back, between your shoulder blades. You feel his lips on the back of your neck. You hear a whispered, “Thank you.” Did you say that last bit out loud? Does he know that’s what you were thinking? It doesn’t matter. You relax, every part of your body limp and pliable.

“I learned about these lovely things here in Midgard,” he announces. “You call them…plugs. I am going to lubricate one and put it inside of you. Part your legs.”

_Ooo, this could get very interesting._ You do as you’re told. “Yes, my Master.”

One finger plays between your cheeks with a cold goo. For a moment, it feels like petroleum jelly, but it doesn’t smell like that. You part your thighs a little wider for him and feel the slippery bulk of the rubber going into your tight hole between your ass cheeks. It’s a little longer than you thought it might be, a little bigger. But it goes in tight and squishy. And damn, it’s getting you very hot.

“More, Master. More.”

Loki has pushed it in all the way, his hand hesitating on one cheek. “More? Truly?”

“Oh yes, Master,” you tell him in a breathy voice. Hot and excited. “I want more.”

“Well done, my sweet. Well done. I have a new toy. Have you ever heard of something called ‘the pear’?”

“No, Master.”

You hear his chuckle. He’s pleased.

“It’s a wooden device—smooth and polished, shaped like the fruit it’s named after. Once a torture device, it’s now used as device for sexual pleasure. There is a screw that opens the device like a flower. I will put this in your quim…your pussy, if you wish me to call it that.”

“Whatever my Master wishes to call it,” you murmur to him. “I submit to you. Whatever pleases you, my Master.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. “I will put this in your quim. I will put the gel on it as well, then open it until it stretches you.” He gets very quiet, presumably adding the lubricant to this device. “I will now put the gel inside and around the lips of your quim.”

“As you will, Master.”

His fingers smear more of the cold goo, this time around your lower lips. Then, inside of you. Your body tries to tense up and it takes all your will to make yourself go limp again. You want to know…and maybe you don’t. And yet, you don’t know what to expect and you are _not_ going to use that safe word until you do know. Two of his fingers go inside, deep with the goo. You gasp, feeling the chill of the gel. His fingers widen inside, working it in well. Once again, you let your body go limp.

The device he calls ‘the pear’ feels _huge_ as he slips it inside of you. _Holy shit, if this is as big as a real pear, I’m fucked._ And still, you won’t call out the safe word. He stops moving when he feels the tension around the device. Ah, but Loki seems to be a patient man. And that…well… _maybe it’s not so bad. It’s big. But…it doesn’t hurt. Not really. Okay. Okay. I can do this. I can take this._ “More, Master. All of it.”

Your body open to him again, he pushes it inside of your pussy the rest of the way. It’s like having a huge tennis ball shoved in there but it doesn’t hurt. Yet. Just feels as if you’re stuffed beyond measure. He gently caresses your ass, your lower back. And that helps as well. You finger the chains holding your wrists in place and let him have his way with your body. You feel him turning the screw on the pear and it opens inside of you. Filling you more and more. Feeling the pressure of the butt plug stuffing your ass as the pear stuffs your pussy.

The force of it becomes unbelievable. The more he opens it, the more you feel your insides growing tighter and tighter. Any more and you might just blow up, spill out over the table. It’s getting uncomfortable, but still not painful. You gasp as he turns it once more and stops. Your bladder feels painfully full. Your insides feel cramped now, crammed full of these things that don’t belong. How long will he leave them inside of you? Now, the pressure has grown to a point where it _is_ a little painful. _Holy God. How long?_ He’s not said another word. He might not even be in the room any longer. Did he leave? Did he just go and leave you here? Like this?

This isn’t exciting anymore. This isn’t sexy or wild. You get an image of that damn pear and begin to understand how this could be used as a torture device. _Where the fuck is he?_ You really have to pee now. All of a sudden, the table is a lot harder than before. Laying on your belly, your breasts are cold and the surface mashes them against your ribs. You moan softly. This is getting ridiculous. No, this is starting to hurt. Really hurt. You want this gone. You want it to stop. _Safe word. What the fuck is my safe word? I don’t remember my safe word._ You’ll never be free. He’s left you. He’s left you alone and you’re in pain and you’re never going to be free… _banana. Banana! That’s my safe word. Banana._

You draw a deep breath, so close to screaming it out when the hand touches your back again. “Shh, all right. All right, my sweet. Enough. You have done well. You have done very well.”

The pressure of the pear in your vagina lessens as he closes it up. He pulls it back out, just as painstakingly slowly, and then caresses your pussy lips. They were stinging from the stretching and you hadn’t even noticed it until now. Your legs are trembling, and the need to pee has gone away. You lick your lips once more. You’re thirsty now. Water.

“Let me take this other out,” he says, and the butt plug is pulled out as well. The chains rattle a bit and there is the _clank_ of a key turning in the locks. He opens the restraining cuffs and your wrists are freed. “Let me help you sit up. You may take off the blindfold, if you wish.”

True to his word, he helps you turn over to sit up on the table. He slides your legs over the side until you are sitting on the edge. You hold on to the table, your legs still shaking. Your hands, as well. You breathe as slowly as you can, trying to still the quivering. It takes you a minute or two before you can reach up to pull the blindfold over your head. You blink several times as the light in the room is too bright. Your eyes finally focus to see a hand holding a glass of water. You take the water from him and gratefully drink.

“Slowly,” he says. “Too fast and your stomach will purge the water. Slowly.”

You slow it down to small sips, taking a breath in between. “I’ve never…never done this before.”

“I know.”

You meet his gaze. “It’s…hard.”

“Yes. It is. Surrender always is. But there is something so freeing in letting go and letting your lover control you. Own you.”

You nod. “Yeah. I see that.”

“You gave me your trust.”

“Yes.”

Loki steps forward again, the auburn hair free and loose. You have that feeling again, of wanting to comb your fingers in that hair. He smiles, taking the glass from you and setting it on the table. He takes your hands in his, kissing them slowly before holding them up to his hair.

“Your reward. One of them.” His smile never dims, lighting his face and making his eyes twinkle. He steps even closer to you.

You stroke the locks, smoothing his hair away from his face. _I was right. Silk. His hair is nothing but strands of silk. Brightly colored, soft. Oh, his hair is beautiful._ You run your fingers through the locks, getting lost in his hair. Just the feel of it. Almost a Zen moment, touching his hair. A movement and your attention darts back to those beautiful eyes. So dark, almost a midnight blue now. He is eying you with a certain hunger in his expression and you feel that familiar feeling in your loins.

“Your reward, my sweet. What would you like?”

“I want _you_.”

He pulls you out on the very edge of the table, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Are you sure?”

For a moment, you’re not sure of the question. “You don’t want me?” you ask. Is he rejecting you? Was he just using you?

“Oh, my dear. How can you ask that?” His lips brush yours. “Yes. I want you. Your reward is _my_ reward.”

Loki slips an arm around your back, the other under your knees, and lifts you up in his arms. He is deceptively strong for as slender as he is. You wrap around him, the smell of his cologne filling your head. Citrus and cinnamon. Clove, maybe. Deep and spicy. Sensual and erotic. Each muscle is well defined as you run your fingers over his strong back. You press against his chest, holding on as tightly as you can, carried out of one room to another. You hold on, your mind full of only him. Your body craving only him. Just him.

The room is lavishly decorated with gauzy drapes and curtains. A very large four poster bed is the focal point and he carries you to it. He lays you down on the duvet and once again, strokes your skin. His fingers on your breasts, your belly, your hips. He pinches. He touches. He bends down to take one nipple in his mouth, and he sucks it. Hard. Taking as much of your breast in his mouth as he can take. Scraping his teeth over the skin of it. He grips the other breast, thumbing the nipple.

Oh, this man. This Loki. You arch your back to push your breast into his mouth. You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging on it. He grunts but he doesn’t stop you. He takes the other breast now, not particularly gentle with it. And you want more. You rake your fingers over his shoulder, this time raising welts. You also get a slap on your hip for your troubles. But again, he doesn’t stop you. One hand gripping his hair, you drag your nails down his back with the other. He moves his head to bite your neck again. This time harder and you’re almost sure he’s drawn blood. You moan with the excitement. The need. The lust. And you still want _more_.

For someone so meticulous, so measured, he struggles to get his clothing off. You toy with the idea of helping him, but he has such a fierce look on his face that you decide against it. He manages to kick off his shoes, but his pants seem to be a bit more than he can handle. In a fit of pique, he jumps off the bed and practically rips everything from his body. You swallow the giggle at his temper tantrum, keeping your face perfectly neutral. Smart move. Once those clothes are off, he stands for a moment. His face is a study in frustration and lust. But that body. Oh, dear God, that body. It’s even more than you originally thought.  

Slim hipped, long legged. Thighs that are strong. Those legs are shapely, as is the rest of his body. Eight pack abs and a chest well-muscled without being burly. Long arms with biceps that are well defined. Skin that has a tinge of blue but still glows with perfect health. But it’s his cock that has captured your attention. The one part of his body that is _not_ slim. You’ve always heard the expression of a ‘Godlike erection’, but never thought such a thing existed. Your breath catches in your throat—you get it now.

Beauty might be in the eye of the beholder, but this one is a work of art. He is very well endowed, long and thick. For a moment, you’re not overly sure if you can take all of that. But you want to try. It stands tall and proud against the thatch of darkest auburn hair, standing out from his body. The skin is slightly darker, full of blood. The head of it covered with his foreskin, glistening lightly. His cock looks as if it has been carved from the most exquisite and expensive marble. Your mouth waters.

Loki climbs on the bed, the slow sultry moves of a cat. A cat who pounces on top of you again, continuing his assault on your mouth. He links his fingers with yours, pulling your arms up over your head. Holding your hands captured as he bites your neck again. You groan at the pain, wanting more. You whisper his name, over and over. You squirm, trying to free your hands, but he won’t let go. Enough, you think. Enough. My turn.

With a quick move of your hips, you flip your lover over on his back and sit over his hips, his cock lying hard against your pussy. It’s your turn to pin him down. One corner of his mouth turns up as he strains a bit, but you have the advantage over him. You are in control. Now it’s your turn to bite and scratch, claw and taste. Your turn to take one of _his_ nipples in your mouth, sucking it madly. You get a grunt for your efforts and it spurs you on. Your turn to put one hell of a mark on his neck, just at the base of it where his throat joins his shoulder. You bite down very hard, sucking the skin. A hiss of air escapes in a breathy scream and you smirk against his flesh.

For every bite, you leave a kiss. A trail of them down his chest, then his belly. You slide down between his thighs to that beautiful cock of his. It’s so hard, stone hard. You lick from base to tip and enjoy his shiver. You dig your fingers into his thighs to part them further and see his balls. They fill your hand, the color of plums, perfectly round and sumptuous. You bend to them, licking. Sucking. Nothing to cause pain but a little nibble gets the point across. They settle against the taint, leaving his rigid member even stiffer in your hand.

You graze your teeth up and down the shaft. The first time, you keep your jaw shut, letting him feel the front of them. Something harder than his dick. Up and down, up and down, first one side and then another. He moans lightly, his knees coming up to give you even better access to his balls. You give them a light squeeze. You open your mouth slightly to let him feel the biting edges. Sliding the shaft between your lips, softly gnawing on it. He grips the coverlet beneath him as he inhales deep. A soft growl comes from his throat.

_Oh yes, my Loki. You will service me soon enough. For now, after you played with_ my _body, I’m going to play with yours. Tit for tat._

You take that shaft in both hands, swallowing down inch by engorged inch. Out a little for every bit you take in. Grazing your teeth against the tender flesh. Then in again. Then abrading again. You don’t stop until he’s down your throat and you’re squeezing the balls again. Swallowed down, swallowing hard. Taking him in deep and pulling him out. Your tongue moving side to side against the indented line on his shaft. Raking it roughly as you do. He can’t lie still. He can’t. You won’t stop and he can’t be still. You have him now.

Slowly pulling his dick out of your mouth, letting your teeth rake against it as you do. He’s practically convulsing now. “That good?”

“Gods…Oh Gods,” Loki gasps.

You press your breasts against his cock, capturing it between them. Rubbing them around his shaft. “What if I said, this is all you get?”

“No, _no_ ,” he snarls.

“I’ve already surrendered to you. It’s your turn to surrender to me.”

“Mmm…I think not.”

Another blur and you find yourself on your belly. “What the…fuck me. Fuck me, please,” you moan.

“Exactly.”

You feel his pull on your hips, sliding over the sheets closer to him. Pulling you up over his thighs. When he enters you, it’s not gentle and easy. It’s rough and deep, plunging in from above. Pressing on your back, pushing your tits deep into the coverlet. Against the mattress.

“Fuck you? You want me to fuck you.”

“Yes, God, yes.”

“I thought you Midgardians wanted romance,” he sneers.

“Later,” you manage. His cock is huge and fits you like the proverbial hand in glove. The harder he rams inside of you, the hotter it gets. The match to tinder, igniting the flame that threatens to burn you alive. _Who are you? Who are you really?_

“Submit to me.”

“Whatever you want. It’s yours.” You can barely speak above a whisper. “Tell me.”

“And if I want you from behind…another way?”

Oh, you know what he wants. You’ve never done that. “Will it hurt?”

Loki lies down against your back, curling up around you. He murmurs in your ear. “I won’t ever hurt you. Unless you beg me for it.”

“I’ve…never….”

“I know,” he tells you. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll have you ready. I swear it.”

You don’t hesitate. You don’t even stop to think. “Do it,” is all you tell him. And you go limp again.

“On your knees.”

You rise up on hands and knees, your ass to him. You feel the gelled finger against your tight hole. Smearing the lubricant. Then, that finger travels inside. It goes only knuckle deep when he feels you tense up. He stops. Waiting. You take a deep breath, also waiting for the pain. Irritation, mostly. You’ve had rug burns that hurt worse. But then again, it’s only one finger.

“Go on.”

The finger goes in to the last knuckle, taking a goodly portion of the lubricant with it. He pulls it out to insert two fingers, once again stopping when you freeze. This time, it’s a bit uncomfortable. He waits until you nod and say again, “Go on.” Three fingers are tight. Hurting. This time, it’s a stretch that is more than just uncomfortable. But this time, you don’t let him stop. This time, you groan in pleasure and in pain as the core closes around his fingers, yielding to the bulk inside of you. Three fingers. God, if his cock is that big….

But you know it is. One last time. “Do it.”

He pulls his fingers out of your ass. One more time, the lube is smeared over his cock and a little more goes inside of you. “Submit to me.”

“Take me.”

His cock slides in, but you’re ready for him now. His three fingers were more than enough. His cock easily fills your ass. He goes in until the wiry hairs of his crotch press against your soft skin. “You’re very tight back here,” he says to you. “Am I your first?”

“Yes. My Master.”

“No.” He grinds his hips against you. “Call me by my name. Speak my name.”

“Yes…Loki.”

“Good.” He thrusts slowly inside. “Beg me.”

 “Fuck me, Loki. Harder. Fuck me and I will submit to you. Willingly.”

“Mine.”

He says no more, just thrusting inside of your ass. He has both of your breasts in his hands, squeezing them. Kneading them. Doing things to your nipples. And he’s not being kind or polite to either ass or tits. You know damn good and well that you’re going to be a lot bruised from the bites and very tender in those places that he’s manhandling. You don’t care. Holy fuck, how you don’t care. All you know is that right now, that prim, proper lawyer you’ve always thought you were is melting away to give over to the animal you’ve always wanted to be.

You’d almost give anything to have something inside of your pussy now. To have everything filled. Even that damned pear. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. You’ve got only the pressure of filling your ass with his cock. Just the feel of your inside closing around his shaft. God, it feels so good. It shouldn’t but it does. Damned if your pussy isn’t wet again. Damned if you don’t want him fucking that instead. Something pounding at your pussy would put this over the top.

So, you reach between your legs to play with your clit. You want something besides your fingers. A vibrator. Maybe a glass dildo. But this will have to do for now. Later, when he’s cleaned himself, you’ll demand your satisfaction. After all, submission is a two-way street. _You want it, baby, you gotta give it. And I’m a demanding bitch too._ You feel something in your hand and look down. Somehow, you’re holding a glass phallus. _Where the fuck did that come from?_

_“_ Use it,” he tells you in a low gravelly voice.

_Don’t have to tell me twice._

The smooth glass goes in, slick and thick. You’re so wet inside, from your own juices and from the earlier lube, that you don’t need anything. You are stuffed, front and back, and the sensation is glorious. No wonder the pear and the plug. You practically drip from the fucking in your ass and your pussy.

“God. Loki. God.”

He chuckles, harder now. Deeper, as deep as he can go. Ramming that fucking cock of his inside of you while you ram that glass inside of your pussy.  He pulls and you push, he pushes and you pull. The two of you working in sync. And you are about to blow your cork.

“Now, Loki, now. I’m about to explode. Please. Give it to me.”

“Now?”

You turn your head slightly, a very happy smirk on your face. “Come on, Loki. Give it to me. Every drop. Now. God, now.”

You feel him stiffen up against you, buried so deep inside. He groans, and you feel the release of his cum inside your ass. Slippery and loose inside, sliding around his cock inside. His release spurs yours and you surrender to the heat in your belly, in your privates. Your pussy tingles, and you think again, that he’s going to go clean his cock and come back and fuck you proper. But this? This is a good start. A damn good start. You push the glass dildo to the side and gently pull away from him. He is still bent over, on his hands and knees as well, as you roll to lay on your side. His hair falls over his face.

“Loki?”

With a sigh, he falls to his side and you scoot over to snuggle with him. He won’t speak.

“Loki?”

His eyes flutter open and he smiles up at you.

“Who are you really?”

Another sigh and he rubs his chest. “Oh. A long time ago, I meant something in this realm. A long time ago. I was an impetuous fool. Always looking for my own amusement. I paid for that. I lost my sons and I was…bound. I paid well for it.”

You raise up on one elbow, propping your head up. “And now?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want my revenge. Not right now. Maybe another day. I like this realm and all its chaos. I like being here.”

_Being here? Realm? Revenge?_

“Loki? What’s your last name?”

He yawns and rolls over to his side. “How about some sleep. You’re welcome to spend the weekend here. Have our fill of each other. Fucking all weekend. I like you, Midgardian. Very much. Sleep for a time. Then—as you say—round two.”

You roll over in his arms, snuggling up to him. He’s really going to have to take a shower, but for right now, it’s not that big a deal. You fit nicely together. He’s quickly snoring against your hair, wrapped around you. Holding on to you. But your mind is not that willing to turn off, even as your body is heavy and limp.

_Midgardian? I know I’ve heard that term before. He likes the chaos of Midgard. Where have I heard that before, damn it? A long time ago? Loki, who are you? Why do I feel like I should know who you are?_

Your eyelids are so heavy now. You can’t move and you’re too exhausted to try. A little sleep would be nice. And then, maybe stay for more. You have all weekend. And the wildcat inside of you has been released. You are very addicted to this man, this Loki. There’s more to him, but you can always find out later. For now…

_Sleep_.

 


End file.
